


Bent, But Never Broken

by lilium_elendir



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Coping, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilium_elendir/pseuds/lilium_elendir
Summary: When Gladio loses his father during the fall of Insomnia, he doesn't have time to mourn. But one night he takes the time to whittle his grief away.





	Bent, But Never Broken

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to Honor + Duty: A Gladiolus Amicitia Fanzine.

In the days following the fall of Insomnia, Gladiolus buried his emotions deep so that he could continue to perform his duties. Fear, grief, anger; there was no time to process. He could hear his father’s voice from over the years. “ _Protect Noctis at all costs. Keep him moving forward.”_ And then his mother’s as well. “ _Be strong, but gentle. Bend, but do not break.”_

 

As they’d stood there in the rain overlooking the bridge leading to their home, confirmation of the king’s death from the Marshal had eased the anxiety wound tightly in his chest. It was easier to know than to be left wondering.

 

Since that time, they had new direction from Cor; find the Royal Arms. Noctis now had two in his possession, the Sword of the Wise and the Axe of the Conqueror.

 

But nothing had quelled the fear in his belly like hearing from Iris. Knowing that his kid sister had made it safely out of the city, having it confirmed by Monica once they’d reached the prairie outpost. Now. Now he could finally relax. Now he could finally allow himself the time to grieve, however short it may be.

 

When His Royal Majesty Regis Lucis Caelum, one hundred and thirteenth King of Lucis, had fallen, it ascertained another death. One that was not heralded in the papers. One that was not mentioned on the radio. One whose honor it was to die for his king. One whose duty it was for all of Lucis. Clarus Amicitia, Gladio’s father.

 

He would have been in his ceremonial robes for the signing. Robes that offered little protection, and hindered Clarus’ movements. They should have been safe behind the wall’s defenses. He shouldn’t have needed more protection than the robes offered. Gladio was consoled by the fact that his father would at least have had his sword.

 

His plan was simple. Take the time to craft a tribute to the King and Shield as a way of honoring their lives. And their passing. It hadn’t taken much effort to find the supplies he needed. Dave loaned him a set of tools to use, and they’d found plenty of gold dust for paint as they’d trekked across Leide. There were piles of scrapped wood littering the terrain, and his sifting had been rewarded with a piece of ebony. It was small, but would be plenty for his purposes.

 

Recognizing his best friend’s stoicism, Ignis had placed a gentle hand on Gladio’s arm and quietly offered to watch over their charge so Gladio could have the time and peace to do whatever it was that he so clearly needed. With Noctis tucked away safely for the evening in the caravan, and Ignis and Prompto around the fire with the hunters, Gladio took his tools and retreated up the slope to Lepellieth Haven.

 

Gladio settled on the edge of the rock outcropping that made up the surface of the haven. Darkness was rapidly approaching, the full moon slowly climbing the sky. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and settled it beside him, laying his tools atop it. His hand closed around the cross lying against his chest. That was what he would be working on tonight, his necklace.

 

He lifted it from around his neck, his fingers reverent and gentle. All the beads had been carved by his own hand when he came of age and was inducted into the Crownsguard. His necklace was a symbol of his family’s legacy, much like the one on the back of his shirt, and a tribute to those who came before him. Each sphere of wood represented a monarch and shield that survived. The golden skulls were pairs that had not. And on two occasions, there were two shields lost to the same king.

 

The cross was fashioned after the symbol on the shield of the Just, a historical figure Gladio idolized in his childhood, and whom he grew to respect even more as the mantle of duty was lifted onto his shoulders. It also represented himself as a target; the force that stood between his King and his enemy.

 

Picking up the piece of ebony, Gladio looked over the prairie outpost, never letting his guard down. Ignis might be watching over the group, but it was still his duty to keep Noctis safe. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he called forth his shield from the armiger in a flash of blue sparks, and settled it across his knees as a work surface. It was a good reminder that the King’s shield was versatile, and had use beyond just that of a wall of muscle. The thought brought a small smile to his lips as he lifted the whittling knife in his other hand and started carving.

 

As the night settled around him, the light of the moon and the soft glow of the haven’s runes were enough to see by, and the first skull began to take shape. Not quite the same size as the others on his necklace, it seemed appropriate that the two most influential figures in his life should be larger.

 

Gladio set the skull down on his shield. That one would represent Regis, and sit at the crux of his necklace, the one that tied them all together. Lifting the ebony back into his hand, he started carving the skull for his dad.

 

Each wood chip fell like a tear, until they were mingled with wetness and Gladio realized he was crying. He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and kept carving. He cried for his father, his mother, and his sister. He cried for Noctis and Regis. He cried until his shoulders shook so hard he had to put the knife down before he cut himself.

 

Gladio moved the shield from his lap and lay back on the cold stone of the haven, his arms splayed out to the sides. Tears streamed down his face, dampening the shaved sides of his head, and staining the rock below. He wasn’t sure how long he had laid there for, long enough for the grief to seep out through his spread fingers and into the ancient magic below him. Long enough for his tears to run dry. He sniffled and wiped his hands across his face. Long enough for the ache in his chest to become manageable.

 

With renewed determination, Gladio sat up. He felt ready to finish the task he’d set for himself. Ready to help Iris through her pain. As much as he wanted to hurry to his sister’s side and cradle her in his arms so they could mourn their dad together, letting his grief out tonight would make him stronger for her. A small chuckle escaped him. Iris was tough as nails, and she’d kick his ass if he ever thought otherwise.

 

Getting back to work, he finished carving the skull. It seemed so small in his large hands, but he handled it with care, just like his mother had taught him before Iris was born. His hands, heavily callused from his years of training, so capable of destruction, had hewn these two small wooden beads. Crafted with love, he applied a layer of gold paint, his fingertips stained in the process.

 

Gladio lifted the necklace onto his shield so he could restring the beads. He thought of Regis as he slipped the skull into place where the strings joined. Like the proverbial crossroads, his gentle wisdom helped guide Gladio down the path of his destiny, ever by Noct’s side.

 

Next was his father’s. Tears threatened to spill again, but he willed them away, the end of his mourning growing nigh as the depth of the night started to brighten along the edge of the horizon. He secured the skull in place, along the with the remaining beads and his cross. Gladio’s fingertips lingered lovingly on the small representation of the man who had shaped his life.

 

“Thanks, Dad. For everything,” Gladio said quietly as he looked up to the heavens above. He pressed the skull to his lips and then stood, slipping the necklace back over his head. The last words his father had ever spoken to him echoed in his mind as he gathered his belongings to head back down and rejoin his friends.

 

_“Son, the journey ahead may be longer than you think, but I know you can face whatever may come. Keep moving forward. The long line of Amicitias stand tall behind you. Never forget how proud I am of you. I love you, Gladiolus.”_

 

The words held deeper meaning now, as though Clarus had known what was coming. Gladio’s hand closed around the cross, the golden skull now resting directly over his heart. They would secure the road to Duscae, and he would keep moving forward. To honor his father, to perform his duty, he stepped down the path back to the outpost.

**Author's Note:**

> Find more stories and art on Twitter @HonorNDutyZine. I collaborated with @Tarakurtzhals. Thanks for your support of our beloved Gladio. <3


End file.
